


tried to let it go (i'm not over you)

by harperuth



Series: (with you) i got to get bolder [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Disassociation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, kind of masturbation? kind of sex toy use?, minimus frags the magnus armor, sex as a coping mechanism, some hints of minimus/rung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23906920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: Here and now he paused in his denta maintenance, standing in front of the shed Magnus armor, staring at it with a newly critical eye.The Magnus armor loomed before him.- - -Or, Minimus frags the Magnus armor, potentially in the name of therapy.
Relationships: Minimus Ambus/Ultra Magnus
Series: (with you) i got to get bolder [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726693
Comments: 13
Kudos: 79





	tried to let it go (i'm not over you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auto_thots (towards_morning)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards_morning/gifts).



> I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED. one second we're talking about brainstorm/the maximus armor, the next i'm chest deep in minimus ambus's inadequacy issues for 72 hours until i write this in an hour and a half in a haze.
> 
> title is from 'party for one' by carly rae jepsen

Minimus paused in his usual pre-recharge ministrations.

He’d been spending more time out of the armor recently, and Rung had particularly encouraged recharging outside of it.

“Your ‘irreducible form’, as you call it, would be preferable,” Rung had said, painfully earnest as he tended to be, “But any steps are to be taken as progress.”

Right.

Minimus had always painstakingly labored under his pre-recharge rituals, the importance of self-maintenance and maintenance of the Magnus armor drilled into his processor by Tyrest. He hadn’t flagged in that now that the mech in question had proved to be somewhat of a lunatic, but he’d perhaps…relaxed. 

Here and now he paused in his denta maintenance, standing in front of the shed Magnus armor, staring at it with a newly critical eye.

“It’s important that you separate your selves,” Rung again, ringing through his processor uncomfortably, “Don’t compare them. None of you are lacking, no matter what form you take.”

Minimus disagreed, but wasn’t going to tell Rung that. He knew who everyone wanted to see when he stepped out of his hab. It certainly wasn’t Minimus in any form. Minimus couldn’t command any room that he entered. Minimus couldn’t restrain a dissociating Whirl with little to no injury to either of them. 

Minimus couldn’t yet pass any mirror without pausing and staring critically.

“You speak casually of Whirl’s dissociation as if you’re not actively experiencing it,” Rung in his head said softly. Minimus shook his helm as if he could even begin to expel the memory data.

The Magnus armor loomed before him.

Minimus abandoned his denta maintenance and approached with some trepidation. He allowed himself some time to be critical. The Magnus armor was overwhelmingly _blue_.

The data string bounced around his processor for a long klik. Minimus waited for the immediate censure he was used to, but it didn’t come. Rung’s influence hung over him still. Minimus vented long and slow.

He stopped right in front of the Magnus armor, optics darting over the surface. The shoulder mounts were a tad ridiculous.

 _Shoulders more capable than yours_. Ah, there it was. The voice was somehow an amalgamation of his own, his memories of Dominus, Rewind’s, and Tyrest’s. Hm.

The Magnus armor continued to loom.

Minimus ran his glossa over his mediocrely cleaned denta and darted a servo out to rest on the knee of the Magnus armor. He’d found over the centuries that leaving the armor in a seated position made it far less likely to collapse mid recharge-cycle and startle him online. 

“I’d prefer if you left the armor outside of your berth room,” Rung’s soft voice admonished him. Minimus dismissed the audio memory file. Where else could he even begin to trust keeping _himself_.

The armor was warm under his servo. It never truly ‘offlined,’ else integrating the loadbearer would be uncomfortable. Like bonding a living mech to an imprisoned spark. Minimus knew that the armor had its own idle programs running at all times, to keep it ‘alive’ if nothing else.

He didn’t spend too much time on the thought tree before clambering to sit in its lap.

Face to chest with the armor, he struggled not to curl in on himself. He was so _small_ compared to the armor. _Useless_ , his processor whispered. Minimus let his helm hit the sternal plate of the armor. The view afforded to him was his own pelvic joints spread wide over the substantial thigh plating of Magnus.

And wasn’t that just it. _Separate your selves_ , his processor whispered, a mockery of Rung’s words. Couldn’t get more separate than this. His own rust stick thin thighs straining to even sit comfortably over Magnus’s. Magnus, even as inanimate as he was, always proved his better.

Magnus was warm underneath him. 

Minimus shuttered his optics and vented slowly.

He blindly reached out, tracing his servo down Magnus’s arm. Even with no visual feedback his processor spat out numbers: sheer power difference, tensile strength, hydraulic pressures. He failed each one.

His digits traced down until he tangled them with Magnus’s, pulling the massive servo up to rest on his thigh. When he was so effortlessly swallowed by something inanimate, why would anyone sentient want to see him? He pulled the servo up further, curling the massive digits around his waist. Their breadth stole the air from his vents.

Minimus fumbled with his lateral port, pulling his plug out and plugging into Magnus’s medical wrist port. The low level coding of Magnus rushed to meet him, familiarity urging them to mesh completely like they were meant to when he donned the facade. 

Minimus froze at the thought. Hm. Facade. 

He tagged it to mention to Rung at a later date. 

For now he simply let Magnus hum beneath him rather than through him. He supposed this was one thing that he had on Magnus; he was in control. Always in control.

Oh.

Minimus squirmed as his processor finally registered the low level heat and interest in his interface array. Fascinating. 

Every level of his armors had an array, of course. It would do no good to betray a facade with something so simple as interface, and hardline interfacing was entirely out of the question. He tried not to let the potential thought trees bloom too far as he considered what he was about to do.

He pushed a little into Magnus's coding, plucking commands he was more than intimately familiar with to release his panel and pressurize his spike. Minimus onlined his optics to watch Magnus’s spike grow in front of him.

“Oh,” he whispered, startling himself with the noise. His fans clicked on. He retracted his own panel.

Minimus grasped the edges of the truly ridiculous shoulder mounts and pulled himself upwards. Magnus’s spike brushed the rim of his valve entrance. He was lubricated, but this wasn’t going to be pleasant.

 _Good_ , his processor offered, particularly vicious and with a heavier overlay of Tyrest’s voice than before.

Minimus relaxed his grip and let the Lost Light’s artificial gravity drop him down onto the spike. It hurt. His calipers stretched against the intrusion, but he hadn’t prepared or taken a spike of this size in some time. A stray processor tree dedicated itself to wondering how Magnus’s spike would feel in his irreducible form. 

Minimus’s vocalizer betrayed a small moan. He whimpered again, “Oh.”

His nodes were on _fire_ , the horribly familiar charge of the armor connecting and wreaking havoc on his systems. Even running only background online support systems, Magnus carried _so much_ charge and Minimus felt overwhelmed. 

He got his knees underneath him somehow and lifted and dropped himself slowly, mindful that any injury that would require a medic’s attention. He already felt half-crazed with charge.

 _Desperate bot_ , his processor hissed. He noted idly that Rewind’s voice was particularly prevalent currently, _So easy for his betters_. Minimus whined and curled his arms around Magnus’s neck, clutching at the armor and wishing suddenly that he didn’t have to order it to clutch him back.

Magnus’s spike brushed his ceiling node every time he dropped down, causing a cascade of reactions down his valve, calipers clenching and clutching at every node that passed his own. A sob escaped his vocalizer as he found just the right angle to rub his anterior node against the armor while he circled his hips and stimulated his ceiling node continuously.

Minimus tightened his hold on Magnus and overloaded, a sob on his lips and lubricant spilling from his valve as it cycled down rhythmically. 

He stayed there for a long moment, processor stubbornly unwilling to properly tag and archive what he’d just done. Minimus forced himself to loosen his grip on the armor, sending an idle command to the armor to house its spike and cover its panel. He detached himself, shame washing over his processor as he did.

He would clean the armor before the alpha shift.

Minimus slithered to the ground, once again looking up at the looming armor. His valve ached. This had been a bad idea.

He tagged the entire memory file with ‘Potentially Tell Rung,’ and resumed his denta maintenance.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about robots on twitter @floralpunkcfb, and robot nasties @robopunkcfb


End file.
